An Escape from Wondering
by lilpryde
Summary: Ron has left. Harry and Hermione have a desperate moment of comfort.


An Escape from Wondering

Four days.

Four days since he left. The locket shined around Hermione's neck as she perused _The Tales of Beedle the Bard, _eyes swollen from her tears. Harry had noticed that his friend didn't sleep, that she ate very little (though their meals weren't the most appetizing, he would admit).

He pulled his eyes away from her hunched form and looked back to the Marauder's Map. Still no Ron, but there was Ginny. She was making her way to the Great Hall with Neville, and Harry imagined her determined face as she entered and glared up at the man who murdered Dumbledore. She was fire made flesh, and he held a huge breath thinking of innocent smiles and stolen kisses.

He pushed the map aside when he heard Hermione's hiccupping breaths. The book discarded, she was on the floor with her hands over her eyes, her shoulders jerking with each soft sob. He had yet to comfort her, thinking that may push her to walk away from this journey. From his mission. From him, and he could not bear to be alone.

Harry kneeled beside her and placed an awkward hand on her shoulder blade. She started, but relaxed when their eyes met. Hers were filled with loneliness, worry, regret, and she saw the same emotions reflected in his. Hermione threw her arms around his neck and cried. Her warmth and trust gave him pause, as he had not realized he needed comfort as much as she did.

He grasped onto her like a dying man, for that was how he felt. There was no escape for him. Ron had left. Hermione could leave any time. They could run and be forgotten by the Dark Lord and his devoted followers, but not him. Not Harry Potter.

"I'm s…so scared." Her wet cheek moved against his neck, and he held her tighter.

"Me too." They had never been so honest with each other. Of course they were scared. They were terrified, but to say the words out loud…

She pulled back, an inch between them. "What if we…we lose, Harry? What if we d…die?"

He didn't know, but he could not say the words as he watched tears leak down her face, as the hope and faith she had always given their trio was stolen from her eyes. He felt the irregular flutter of the locket between them. Its poisonous magic infected him with her fears, heightening his own, and he trembled, tears threatening as they held onto each other.

And then their lips met in a hungry kiss, so desperate for contact, for comfort, that thoughts of Ron and Ginny and Voldemort flew from their minds. He ran his hands through her tangled hair. She pulled at the wool sweater covering him. They stumbled toward the bottom bunk, kicking off shoes and pushing books and chairs out of the way, never breaking the kiss.

Neither had done this before, but those fears were for another lifetime. Any outside thought or sound would intrude on this escape from the isolation, the loneliness, the constant and crippling wondering.

She pulled her jumper over her head, breaking the kiss. Her bare thighs were wrapped around his waist, his own pants and underwear pushed to his knees, and the locket sat heavily between her cotton covered breasts. She was moving her hand over his stomach, pushing at her underwear, and each time she brushed his hard length, he groaned at the amazing feel.

He pulled her mouth back to his, and the locket seemed to scorch his chest when they touched, pushing him to take what she offered to soothe his troubled mind. Her hand tentatively wrapped around him and guided him to her exposed entrance. At the first touch, their eyes flew open.

He grasped her hand. "Hermione?" It had been so long since they spoke, and the lust of their intimacy gave his voice a raspy quality. He lifted the golden bauble from her chest and pulled it over her head. With the haze of its magic gone, a single tear escaped.

"Harry, please. I need…oh god, I don't know." She began to push on his chest and wiggle away, but her movements pulled him in another inch, and they froze again. Harry fisted his hands in the sheet on either side of her head, and Hermione's breaths were heavy. In that moment, Harry knew they were thinking the same thoughts. Was this wrong? What would people think? What about Ron? Ginny?

Then gritting his teeth, Harry started to pull out, but her ankles tightened around him to push him in, further this time, and he cried out. The feel of her warm, wet heat, squeezing, tugging. It was intoxicating, and she was panting under him, her small breasts rising and falling as her eyes glazed over with need. Yes, need. They _needed_ something from each other right now, a kind of comfort that hadn't existed before, something to keep them going for the next week, the next day, the next minute, or they would quit. Lose all hope, shatter their faith in the friends they couldn't contact, faith in each other…

And when their mouths met again, he swallowed her gasp of pain as he slid in the rest of the way. He rolled his hips in gentle, shallow thrusts until her tears stopped, and she began to move with him. She grasped the arm next to her face and put her other hand on his shoulder, clawing at him each time he surged forward. His face fell to her neck, his hair sweaty and mussed, and they listened to each other's breathing and the sounds of the wind outside the tent and forgot about the future, their fears, the never-ending wondering. They climbed together, with each breath, each thrust, to a peak so high they never wanted to fall until they did. And it was perfect, each holding onto the other with all their strength, crying out, breathing hard, falling, falling, falling into dreamless sleep at the end. Wrapped in the arms of their very best friend.

There was no awkwardness the next day. They discussed the sword, ate in silence, Hermione mulled over the Bard's tales, Harry watched the Marauder's Map, but both felt lighter, more alert, ready to face the next threat. And they each decided to stop wondering about the future, knowing that no matter what happened, they had each other.


End file.
